


i think i might've inhaled you

by sloane (lesbigoblin)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Evil, BDSM, F/F, Vollstrucker Caleb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26883670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbigoblin/pseuds/sloane
Summary: Essek Theylss is a traitor to the dynasty. As part of his tentative allegiance to the empire, he allows a captured Vollstrucker into his home.He damns her, and she returns the favor. (Or more accurately, they fall in love.)
Relationships: Astrid/Eodwulf/Bren Aldric Ermendrud, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	i think i might've inhaled you

**Author's Note:**

> im finally back with more wlw sg! to quote the last time i wrote about these two:
> 
> this is what we call "wlw shadowgast" in the business.
> 
> caleb is a trans girl  
> essek is a nonbinary lesbian who uses he/him pronouns (a hesbian, if you will)
> 
> comments are on review just to prevent anyone from having to look at transphobia or lesbophobia that anyone might think to leave here.
> 
> that being said, i hope you enjoy! these headcanons are super important to me as an nb lesbian myself and i hope you will like them too!
> 
> now theyre evil! sort of. caleb is a full vollstrucker and essek, with no positive nein influence, is fully committed to his treason. however, the whole point of this is that they are still soft for each other, even as they are cruel and violent to the rest of the world. title from bloodstream by stateless.

as is commonplace in his line of work, essek theylss is called to the dungeon of penance to interrogate a prisoner. the only abnormality is the urgency with which he’s been expected to arrive, water droplets still clinging uncomfortably to his skin from an interrupted shower. 

he arrives outside the most secure prison cell in the complex.

“empire.” one of the guards says, “an assassin, nearly killed the sky sibil.” 

“of course,” essek says, smooth as fine wine, even as the hairs on his neck stand on end. he is sure, more than, really, that he’s properly held up his end of the deals he’s made, yet he cannot effectively squash the underlying fear that whoever, or whatever is in that cell is going to be what gets him caught.

the door opens, and essek sees a human woman, chained to a chair. long waves of red hair obscure her face, but essek still instantly knows who she is. 

\--

essek waits in the light of day.

it's difficult for him to navigate even the streets of rosohna he was raised on with glare of sunlight bouncing off the cobblestones into his eyes - but

but that's what makes it the perfect opportunity. 

while the people of rosohna worship their god of light, essek stands poised on the edge of blasphemy. treason of the highest order and his pulse races with the thought of it, of all the things he will learn, what he will do for his dynasty. 

theres a tap on his shoulder

he turns, and

as expected, a human woman. but 

the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

red hair, a loose braid down to her mid back, dark brown eyes that crinkle at the edges from a soft, deceptively kind smile. hes so immediately captivated that he almost forgets to check and make sure she's the right person.

red ribbon on the right wrist. three rings on the left pointer finger. an emerald nose ring. 

“hello there,” he says, straightening his shoulders and forcing his voice to stay smooth. “glad to see you could make it.”

she waves slightly, extends a hand.

“oh, of course.”

he shakes her hand, lets a small pouch slip from his sleeve into hers. a bag of holding, threaded with thin strips of lead. it isnt foolproof, but he doubts that trent ikithon would send him a fool.

she must feel the shift in fabric, from the way her smile widens. 

“are you going to make it home alright?”

another nod, as she lets go - and essek hadnt realized hed been clinging. she walks away, only pausing to blow him a kiss over her shoulder as she goes. 

\--

the door closes behind him. loud and thundering even over his mind racing. the woman does not react. the only indication she's still alive is the slow rise and fall of her chest.

he approaches, slow and smooth, let’s his feet touch the ground so he doesn’t startle her. she barely reacts; he only knows she's awake from the slight shift of her head, a disturbed lock of hair falling into her eye.

he breathes out a laugh as he bends down to eye level, cups her cheek in his hand. tilts her head back. her pupils are massive, searching for light in a room where there is intentionally very little. essek gets as close as he can, hopes her human eyes, however weak, can at least recognize him.

“hello, sweetheart. you seem to be in a bit of a, uh, pickle, here, as you say in the empire. do not worry. im sure this is all a big misunderstanding. ill take care of it.”

she flexes, briefly, against the chains holding her wrists down. swallows. half smiles, and essek feels a fire ignite in his gut.

\--

in spite of all her imperial zeal, caleb is more than willing to admit that the kryn have dwendal beat when it comes to fabric. she can't help but relish in the soft xhorhassian silk that kisses her skin as she lounges on the personal bed of the bright queen’s shadowhand.

he’s sitting at a desk, filling out paperwork. she’s hesitant to interrupt him because she knows that its the paperwork that will save her life, so instead she just looks.

the first glance is looking at a target from across a bar.

tall and thin, but with arms that betray a strength exceeding the expectations of a wizard of his station. impeccable posture, ears at attention, drow darkvision - it would be impossible to sneak up on him. magic, too, isnt an angle despite being her best asset. she doubts hes a better wizard than her, but hes surely sufficient to last long enough to get her caught. 

his weakness is his station. all robes and fancy clothes. a knife in the back in the right place and hes gone. 

which means if anyone were to be sent to kill him, it would be astrid. that sours her stomach a bit, so she blinks. changes perspective.

the second glance is looking at another wizard, her peer. his hands are liquid as he writes, his wrist flicking deftly through practiced loops and swirls. his handwriting speaks to long hours of study and inscription, and caleb imagines herself peering endlessly into the depths of his spellbooks, digging deep into the core of his mind through ink on paper.

it’s difficult for her to remind herself that it isn’t necessary, that he isn’t a target, but she finds she’s still hungry, that the third glance is an animal regarding its next meal.

master trent ikithons voice graces the back of her mind.

_ ill leave it to your judgment, bren. if you feel safe there, we would benefit from keeping you close to the heart of the dynasty _

\--

essek is almost embarrassed by the fact that it takes less than a week for him to have caleb in his bed. he feels her claws deep in him, has felt it every time the two of them have passed each other in his abodes many twisting hallways.

he’s embarrassed at how quickly he finds himself with caleb pinned against the wall, lips and teeth trailing down her neck, but he isn’t surprised.

her moans rattle inside his ribcage, her weak writhing accelerates his heartbeat and he decides this must be what consecution must feel like, for how certain he is in that moment that his destiny is hers, that she’s already started consuming him. or perhaps that’s just his hindsight, confirmation bias telling that he’s already damned.

either way hes lifting her up bridal style, dropping her onto his bed and opening her with his fingers. in his room of dull dynasty grey she is an inferno, a splatter of blood against his bedsheets. 

as his strap on slides into her he whispers. 

“dont come. dont you dare come. you’ll wait for me.”

she just moans, throws her head back and essek goes after her exposed throat with teeth. he fucks her hard and fast, chasing more than anything her noises, her twitches, her pleasure, her, her, her, and she's beautiful, and she's an imperial assassin, and she's

and she’s coming.

her hips twitch and thrash and she comes with a scream, and essek stops moving, dumbfounded. her orgasm is beautiful, transcendent and divine, and yet he is barely able to comprehend.

by the time he’s back to himself she's reclining against his matress, lidded eyes and wry smirk betraying a sort of mischievous sense of satisfaction. 

“whoops,” she says. “my mistake.”

essek returns a frown, starts to pull away. “you weren’t supposed to do that.”

“i am aware. what do you plan to do about it?”

sighing, essek clambors down from his bed. “nothing, i suppose. would you help bathing?” he begins picking up scattered garments, sorting them into piles based on who they belong to.

the sheets rustle, and essek hears more than sees caleb sit up. “arent you going to punish me?”

and essek is suddenly violently aware of his nudity. he is cold, and exposed, and looking caleb in the eye. and she is suddenly no assassin, no killer, no wizard with the potential of history’s greatest archmagi. 

she looks scared, confused, vulnerable. scarred. essek realizes that he, for all his monstrous acts, for all the blood on his hands, he could never lay a finger on her with violent intent. he could never hurt her, not on purpose. but,

“is that what you want, caleb?” 

and he whispers but it’s so loud, even over his heartbeat in his ears he can’t stand how loud his own voice is.

she blinks.

\--

“is that what you want, caleb?”

her heart tightens. stops, for a moment as caleb begins to curl in on herself. 

she is suddenly hyperaware of the phantom sensation of broad hands on her throat, pressing down, of delicate fingertips dragging nails like knives against her back. of the arcana laced into the very flesh and bone of her forearms.

it isnt that she wants it. it isnt. she hates it, she always has, but its normal. its expected.

caleb hates it but bren needs it.

esseks hands are smaller than eodwulf’s, his fingernails duller than astrid’s. he isnt holding a scalpel. 

“i dont know,” she says.

essek, silhouetted in the moonlight, fractures her train of thought. he isnt holding a scalpel, so when he crosses the room to shush her, to wipe her tears away, she doesn't flinch, doesn't stop him.

“im going to take care of you,” he whispers. “you don’t deserve to be punished. you don’t. you deserve to be cherished so i am going to cherish you. i swear it.” 

and bren wants to scream and thrash, remind him that she is a monster, but caleb allows it, allows his hands in her hair.


End file.
